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Monday, July 29, 2013

This morning as I was working on getting the house ready for my parents visit, I was wallowing again, and beating myself for the fact that unless I have children (that part of me expects to never have), my mother will never be as excited to visit me as she is to visit my brother (and her only grandchild). Standing in front of the fridge, trying to choose what to defrost and to plan meals, I was nearly in tears, feeling barren. As barren as the desert.But after a moment's thought I realized - the desert isn't barren. It is stark, and certainly doesn't have the lush beauty of a forest or a garden in bloom. But if they were covered in trees, who could see the beauty of the Red Rocks in Sedona? When next to a rose, who would appreciate the quieter beauty of a blooming cactus? My parents now spend much of the year in Scottsdale, and until last year, when my niece was born, the whole family would go out there for Thanksgiving or Christmas. The first few times we went, my husband complained (he would say "commented") about the landscape: it was too flat, there weren't enough trees. He preferred the tree-covered hillsides of home. Though the landscape is strange, different, I appreciate the contrast of the sand, cacti, and mountains. No one would call it lush, but it has a beauty of it's own. I may not have the life of forest or a garden, but there is still life there. There is still beauty in my desert landscape.

About Me

Welcome to my prison of infertility. I am Catholic and not Hugenot, and my imprisonment is for neither religious nor political reasons. In truth, I do not know why I am held here, only that I am.
I am in my mid-30s and live in southwestern PA with my husband and 3 cats. This is my attempt to cope with what seems to be the loss of yet another dream.